The Waiting Game
by Dolen Feredir
Summary: Bobby Singer hated waiting.


Title: The Waiting Game

Author: Dolen Feredir

Rating: K+

Characters: Bobby Singer

Pairings: None

Disclaimer: Supernatural doesn't belong to me. I have made no money off of this.

Notes: Just a one-shot I wrote a while back and finally decided to post. I hope you like it!

* * *

Bobby Singer hated waiting. He was normally an extremely patient man – easy to get along with and slow to anger, but today he felt ready to snap. His nerves were strained to the limits and the constant tension in his body made him unable to sit still.

He glanced at the phone again. Stupid, useless, bloody machine. Always ringing when he wanted peace and quiet, never when he wanted, no, _needed_ to hear from someone.

Bobby paced again. He went over the events in his mind one more time, just to ensure that his advice had not been faulty. He was certain his research had been sound. The books had been remarkably clear. Fiddling with the brim of his trucker hat, Bobby swore lightly under his breath.

It shouldn't be taking so long.

What if something had happened?

What if the reason his phone hadn't rung was – no . . . Bobby wouldn't allow himself to finish the thought. They were fine. They would call when they could.

Bobby forced himself to take several deep breaths and leaned stiffly against the counter. He idly wondered what his fellow hunters would say if they could see him like this. He imagined that they would be surprised. Bobby Singer wasn't exactly a warm, fuzzy man.

No, if the others could see him now, worried almost sick about two young hunters, they would be shocked that Bobby had let anyone get that close to him. The mechanic had always maintained a personal distance from everyone; even those he considered friends were kept an arm-length away. It was safer, and it was easier to handle should the worst happen.

Bobby couldn't even pinpoint the moment when all that changed. All he knew was that he seemingly went from hard-ass hunter to anxious mother hen in about the time it took most people to decide what to eat for dinner.

Sparing another glare for the traitorous phone, Bobby ground his teeth.

This was getting ridiculous.

They were grown men now – far from the children they were when they still needed 'Uncle Bobby' to watch over them. They were warriors now; hunters in their own right – forces to be reckoned with.

Who was he kidding?

They were _kids_.

More than that, they were kids that Bobby himself had sent into danger. He was the one who provided the intel. He was the one who had _told_ them about the hunt!

With another muttered curse, Bobby grabbed the nearest book he could find and flipped through it. His eyes never rested long enough to decipher the actual words and the familiar weight of the book did little to calm his troubled thoughts.

If anything had happened to those boys . . .

Bobby stopped trying to distract himself with the book. If anything happened to them . . . he didn't know what he'd do.

The pair of them had grown on him. Hell, the little bastards were family. He couldn't bear the thought of them hurt, or worse.

Bobby almost felt himself pale at the notion, his feet once again twitching to resume pacing.

Why hadn't they _phoned_?

Bobby slammed the book down on a convenient surface with far more force than was strictly necessary.

That was it.

He'd had enough.

Bobby was going to find those two idjits himself and if they'd somehow gotten themselves in a mess, the brothers Winchester were going to have to answer to him.

Who did they think they were, making him wait by the phone like some giggling school-girl hoping the cute boy from chemistry class would call her?

Grabbing his cell phone and checking his pocket for his car keys, Bobby stormed towards the door.

No more waiting.

He would rescue the boys from whatever trouble they'd managed to find and then he'd kill them himself for making him worry. Not that Bobby had any intention of letting them know just how concerned he'd been. No sense in that, really.

Steeling himself for whatever awaited him, Bobby reached for the doorknob.

And the phone rang.

* * *

_End_


End file.
